


Tailor-made

by Draycevixen



Series: POI fic by Draycevixen [24]
Category: Person of Interest (TV), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Crossover, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-05
Updated: 2013-09-05
Packaged: 2017-12-25 16:05:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,327
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/955080
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Draycevixen/pseuds/Draycevixen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Slb44 gave me the following prompt at Christmas (sorry it's late!): Finch finds out he shares a tailor with Tony Stark.</p><p>[Person of Interest with a guest appearance]</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tailor-made

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Slb44](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Slb44).



Finch hit the intercom button to announce his arrival, “Harold Jay to see Alfred,” and then glanced down at Bear who was sitting patiently by his leg. If only all of his associates were so easily handled. A quick sideways glance revealed Reese still halfway down the block, meandering slowly towards them, a smirk on his face and a newly purchased cup of coffee in his hand. 

As the door was swung open by one of Alfred’s apprentices, Finch thought momentarily about leaving Reese stranded outside. It would have been an excellent plan, except Reese didn’t want to be there in the first place and this particular appointment was for Reese’s benefit, whether he saw it that way or not. 

“I’m sorry, my associate is lollygagging,” he apologized to Alfred’s apprentice. 

“I may loll but I never gag, Harold.” Reese was suddenly right at his elbow. 

Finch noticed the apprentice was struggling not to laugh as he closed the door behind them. 

 

Inside, he introduced Reese to Alfred, “my associate, Mr. Reid,” and watched while Alfred led Reese away to the fitting rooms. As he lowered himself in to an armchair, he watched Reese stop dead at the door of a fitting room still in Finch’s sight line. Alfred hesitated but then shrugged and ushered Reese through its door. 

Another apprentice wheeled a full clothes rack into Reese’s fitting room, Finch having called ahead with Reese’s measurements, before bringing Finch a cup of green tea along with a gourmet dog biscuit for Bear.

He sipped his tea and allowed himself to relax back in to the chair, noticing for the first time that there was a blackboard standing in the corner of the room. There was no denying that Alfred was an artist, but if the equation scrawled on the blackboard in chalk was the work of one of Alfred’s apprentices his talents were wasted on tailoring. Except…

“Stop whining. You’re trying on at least six more suits or no more blowjobs for you.” A man speaking over his shoulder emerged from the fitting room area, finally seeing Finch as he faced forward again. “Hi.” 

Finch responded with a “good afternoon,” but Tony Stark was already walking over to the blackboard. 

“Great suit.” Stark was staring at the blackboard but was obviously still speaking to Finch. “Not Alfred’s work… Savile Row?” 

“Yes, it was made by Alfred’s brother.”

Stark used the sleeve of his Armani jacket to wipe out a four in the second row of the equation, replacing it with a three. He nodded at the blackboard and then wandered back over to stare around the corner of the entrance to the fitting room area. “Get back in there, I said six.”

He tried to just sit there and drink his tea. Tried, but just couldn’t. “It’s a thing of beauty.” 

“What is?” Stark looked back over his shoulder at Finch and then turned back to make shooing gestures at someone further down the fitting room hallway. 

“Your equation.” 

“Just something I’m playing with to kill some time. I borrowed the blackboard from Alfred. It’s good to go old school every now and again.”

“Pity it’s wrong.” 

This time Stark turned all the way round to face him. “ _What?_ ” 

“The three should indeed be a four but then it should be a plus not a minus in the second bracket on the fourth row.” 

Stark stalked back over to the blackboard and changed the equation again, accumulating even more chalk dust on his jacket in the process. He stepped back to stare at the blackboard for a long moment and then moved to perch on the arm of Finch’s chair. 

“You begin to fascinate me, immaculately dressed stranger.” He extended his hand. “Tony Stark.”

“I know.” Finch shook his hand. “Harold Jay.”

“So, Harold Jay, are you a mathematician? MIT?”

“No, just a hobbyist.” It wasn’t a lie exactly. He’d never _graduated_ from MIT. “I work in insurance.”

Stark grinned. “The Farm it is then.” Stark ran his fingers down Finch’s lapel. “But my spook doesn’t wear suits half as nice as yours.”

Finch had long experience in playing dumb. “Not farm insurance—” He fumbled a business card out of his pocket and handed it to Stark, whose fingers caressed his briefly as he took the card. “—Aerie Insurance. I’m an actuary.”

“Is he yours?”

“Who, Bear?” Finch glanced down at Bear, wondering, not for the first time, if their dog needed an alias as well.

“No, not the dog.” Stark nodded to where Reese was watching them over the top of his fitting room door. “I meant tall, dark and glaring.”

“Mr. Reid is my associate.”

“Is that what we’re calling it now?”

“My _business_ associate.” 

Reese really did look like he was itching to kneecap someone, but then Reese really did hate trying on clothes. 

“I don’t think so” Stark stared down at Finch “but I can see you think so, Harry, and puzzled is a good look on you so let’s try a little experiment.” Stark leaned in closer, slipping an arm around Finch’s shoulders to whisper in his ear. “How’s he taking this?” 

The door to the fitting room flew open as Reese, dressed in only his unbuttoned shirt, boxer briefs and socks, started to cross the room. “Harold—”

He drew back as far as he could within the circle of Stark’s arm. “It’s all right, Mr. Reid, Mr. Stark and I were just having a conversation concerning… an hypothesis of his.”

Reese stopped dead in his tracks, allowing Alfred to catch up to him. “Mr. Reid, I really must insist that in your current state of dishevelment you stay inside the fitting room.” 

“That’s all right, Alfred, we’re enjoying the view aren’t we, Harry?” Stark looked Reese over slowly. 

Reese glanced down like he was noticing his lack of pants for the first time. Scowling, he retreated back in to the fitting room. 

“Your _associate_ has nice legs.”

“Yes, he does.” Finch couldn’t believe he’d agreed even though it was the truth. Stark was an unsettling character. 

Stark’s phone launched in to _Every Girl’s Crazy bout a Sharp Dressed Man._ “Sorry, Harry, I’ve got to take this.” Stark stood up, fishing his phone out of his pocket, walking out to the lobby. “What now, Coulson?” 

 

Reese was staring so intensely at Finch that Reese was visibly startled by Alfred’s hand on his arm as Alfred proffered another jacket. Luckily, Reese didn’t instinctively maim Alfred. Good tailors were hard to find. Finch flinched himself as Stark touched his shoulder. Lack of awareness seemed to be going around. 

“Sorry, Harry, we have to leave, something about tentacle monsters at Rockefeller Center. Coulson’s over excited and I never would have figured him for a Hentai fan boy.” Stark slid his business card in to Finch’s breast pocket. “Give me a call and we’ll make sweet math together.” Stark walked away down the fitting room corridor. 

Finch could hear Stark’s voice in the distance: “Get you pants on, we’re leaving through the back door…” Stark laughed at something said that Finch couldn’t hear. “No, it doesn’t sound quite right to me either.”

 

“Thanks, Alfred.” Reese emerged from the fitting room still shrugging his own jacket back on. “I need a word, Mr. Jay. Alfred said we can use his office.” 

Finch gestured at Bear to stay put and stepped in to Alfred’s office, past Reese who was holding the door open for him. 

“Surely whatever this is about could wait until we return to the library, Mr. Reese. If this is about Mr. Stark, no harm done, he just likes to take liberties.”

“He’s not the only one.” Reese closed the door and then crowded Finch back against it, an arm stretched out on either side of Finch’s head, pinning him back against the door. “Do you know why I didn’t want to come here, Harold?”

Finch smothered the urge to try to make Reese back up, instead concentrating on appearing relaxed and perhaps even a little bored. He knew he’d succeeded when the tension in Reese’s arms relaxed. “I think you may be about to tell me.” 

Reese leaned in closer. “Because the tailor I have already meets _most_ of my needs.” Reese dropped to his knees, his hands now on either side of Finch’s hips. “While he’s making sure my pants’ cuffs shiver on my shoes, he’s guaranteeing my pants aren’t fitting so well other places.” Reese dragged his cheek across Finch’s flies and his already half-hard cock hidden beneath. “It appears you understand my problem.”

Finch thought he should say something about inappropriate behavior, about how long it had taken to find a gem like Alfred and how he didn’t want to do anything to jeopardize his relationship with his tailor. 

Harold thought ‘Finch’ should shut the fuck up and see just how far John wanted to take it. 

John’s hands moving to rest at the button of Finch’s flies seemed to answer that question but then nothing happened. He’d been staring at the far office wall but now he looked down to find John staring up at him like he was waiting for something. 

He was an idiot. John was waiting for a response beyond an autonomic one. He reached to lightly touch John’s hair and John had Finch’s pants undone, the front of his boxer shorts pulled down and his cock fished out before he could barely blink. John licked a long strip up his cock and Finch’s head dropped back against the door as far as it could go, his eyes closing. They snapped open again as John reached up to touch his cheek. 

“Watch me, Harold.” 

He knew from Reese’s files just how experienced he was with torture methods but he’d never expected to get a personal demonstration. John swallowed him down at a glacial pace, an iron grip on Harold’s hips preventing him from thrusting forward. Not that he really wanted to rush things. He’d never thought of himself as a masochist but this could go on forever as far as he was concerned. 

No one had ever managed to deep throat him before, so he was astonished when John’s lips tightened around the base of his cock. He dropped his hand from John’s hair to caress his cheek and John leaned in to it, groaning around his cock as John stopped moving altogether, breathing hard through his nose. 

“John? Are you all right?” John swallowed and Harold folded over him as far as his body would allow, his hands dropping to John’s shoulders to hold himself up. “Fuck!”

John pulled off, smirking. “Language, Mr. Finch.” 

He liked that John’s voice was rougher and hoarser than usual, liked knowing he’d caused it. “I apologize for my crudeness.” He smiled down at John. “What if we were to consider it a suggestion for later?” 

He’d never seen that open a smile on Reese’s face. He was so distracted by it that he was surprised when John took him in again, this time increasing his pace as Harold’s fingers tightened further on John’s shoulders, grasping at handfuls of his jacket, until he realized he was on the verge of coming and tried instead to push John away.

John stopped moving with him buried deep in John’s throat and then swallowed around him again and again. He couldn’t stop himself, emptying in to John, his knees weakening, reliant on John’s hands and his own grip on John’s shoulders to hold him up.

John licked him clean, tucking him away and doing his pants up again, before climbing to his feet, still crowding Harold in. Agile fingertips slid Stark’s business card from Harold’s pocket. 

“You won’t be needing this.”

“I might.” He snagged the card from John’s fingers and tucked it back in to his breast pocket. It was only when he saw the bleakness of John’s expression in the second before Reese’s shutters went back up that he realized his mistake. Harold had never been good with people. “For help with the numbers, John.” 

Reese’s expression eased a little but he still looked guarded. 

Actions would speak louder than words. He slid his hand down to caress Reese’s erection that was distorting the line of his pants. Alfred would definitely not approve of that. 

“You don’t have to,” John muttered, even as he arched in to Harold’s hand. 

He ignored John, undoing his zipper, pulling him out of his briefs and stroking up the length of John’s cock, enjoying the weight in his hand. 

“You should stop, Harold. I won’t last and we’ve still got to walk out of here. I can’t come all over your suit.” 

He would have been more convinced by John’s argument if it wasn’t said in a tone that indicated it would be like Christmas for John to be able to do exactly that. He could indulge John, at least a little.

Harold reached back in to his breast pocket, pulled out his silk pocket square and wrapped it around John’s cock. He felt John swell further as he wrapped his hand tightly around the silk and slid his hand up and down John’s cock, it only taking a few strokes before John filled the pocket square, the moisture seeping through to Harold’s fingers. 

He finished cleaning John off, balled the handkerchief up in his jacket pocket and slowly licked his fingers clean. John groaned and stopped him by backing him up against the door again, kissing him hard. 

He broke the kiss with a hand to John’s chest. “We have to stop.” 

He hadn’t seen an expression like that on Reese’s face since he’d told Reese he shouldn’t have bothered to rescue him from Root. Reese as an immoveable object was an impressive sight. Harold approved. 

“I just meant _now_ , John.” He took Reese’s hand. “We need to settle up with Alfred and then we’re going back to your apartment, for a proper fitting.”


End file.
